Good in Parts

Saturday, August 06, 2016

When we look back at
August 2016, I wonder if, amid all the news of trials and tragedies
around the world, some people at least will remember it as the summer
of Pokemon Go. Wherever you travel around the city and beyond, you’re
likely to encounter young adults apparently mesmerised by the screen
on their smartphones, as they try to capture these cartoon creatures
who appear for a limited time in specific real locations. My
otherwise intelligent son will admit to running the length of the
Leamington Road in hopes of catching a Charazar which was apparently
located somewhere close to the Finham roundabout…but of course
REALLY there’s nothing there at all. These are virtual creations,
invisible without the help of a smart phone…and in collecting them,
my son and his peers are collecting nothing of any real value
whatsoever. But of course, to those in the know, they are engaged in
something that’s absorbing and entertaining. You just have to
understand how it works.

And of course, many of
those who grasp the appeal of Pokemon will find themselves completely
baffled by the number of people who get up on Sunday morning and come
some distance, negotiating the complications of Sky Ride et al, to
engage with what they might describe as our own particular “imaginary
friend”. For them Christianity is simply an exercise in mass
delusion – and if you’ve ever tried to explain why you’re here
on strictly rational grounds, you’ll know that it really isn’t
easy.

The problem is that we
can’t offer any objective proof that we’re not completely
barking. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction
of things not seen said Paul…and even for us, who have got here by
hook or by crook this morning, faith is not a steady state. In fact,
faith and feelings seem all too inextricably entangled, so that the
times in life when external challenges make us particularly focussed
on our NEED for something beyond the immediate struggles may also be
the times when we feel least certain of God’s love for us.

The point, then, is to
remember that while faith is not the same as knowledge, neither is it
the same as feeling. Emotions ebb and flow and are a pretty bad guide
to reality. If we only believed in God when our feelings enabled us
to do so, - on those golden days when all's right with the world,
then I’m guessing that there would be many many Sundays when we
stayed at home. What’s interesting is that in his celebration of
the faith of his fathers, Paul relies above all on story…Abraham
acted on his own experience of a God who spoke and made promises –
and then Abraham’s obedient action became in itself compelling
evidence to encourage the faith of others (right down to the present
day). Sarah, who didn’t have that initial encounter with God, found
the whole thing much more problematic – but clearly she had faith
in her husband. Her experience of him was that he was probably
neither mad nor bad, and so she allowed herself to be uprooted
repeatedly,to be swept up in his great adventure – only really
grasping why when her son was in her arms. She trusted him – and
their story became evidence to inspire the trust of others.

And I’m guessing that
for most of us, it has been the experience of knowing other
Christians, people whom WE trust, that has inspired our own faith
journey. Perhaps we have seen them tackle life differently, opt for
slightly different priorities, perhaps we’ve noticed an indefinable
something – maybe love, maybe joy, maybe peace? – and wished that
we could share it.

Sometimes, of course,
God intervenes directly and very powerfully – as he did with Abram.
One of the great delights of ordained ministry is that people feel
able to talk about that kind of encounter, without worrying that we
will automatically assume they are deluded – so I’ve been
privileged to hear some amazing and wonderful stories. God is
constantly in the business of building a relationship with each one
of God’s children. If the church as we know it vanished tomorrow,
that process would continue….BUT ….If we are here because of the
faith of others, then we need to recognise that our own faith,
however faltering, our own longing to lead a life shaped by our
relationship with God, will have an impact in its turn.

So – be conscious of
the value of your own story…On a bad day, you may feel that all you
can offer is a dogged determination to keep on behaving AS IF you
believe, because at least that gives you a sense of purpose and of
hope, however faint and unreasonable. On a better day, count your
blessings but be prepared, also, to share the results of your
counting. Be expectant, alert, hopeful. Gossip the gospel. Write
about your God moments in a journal, so that they can resource you at
the empty times. Most people don’t have news of extraordinary
miracles, but everyday graces that confirm the presence of loving God
who is working for our transformation can speak just as loudly. And
please, PLEASE don’t be afraid to share your own personal good
news…the gospel according to YOU.

When we did the NCD survey
together in the spring, it was notable how few people felt able to
share their glimpses of God, even with friends from this, their own
faith community. That's really sad – because I'm confident that if
you pause to think, you'll find examples of God's presence in the
ordinary and also, maybe particularly, when things are tough. Of
COURSE nobody wants to hear a bunch of platitudes that owe more to
the Hallmark Card school of theology than to any lived experience –
but there's plenty to say without resorting to a suggestion that life
is an experience of roses all the way once you begin to follow
Christ.

The path of my own
faith is definitely erratic…lots of troughs, days, even weeks, when
the whole thing seems to be no more than smoke and mirrors,a mad
delusion designed to offer comfort in a sometimes lonely and hostile
world...but also times when I have been completely overwhelmed by
God’s presence, his transformative action, the knowledge of his
love - or brought onto holy ground as someone else spoke of how
they’d experienced God at work in their life, their world. And,
most of the time, it seems that my story and my experience is enough.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things
unseen... And always, for me, there is that sense of aspiration that
pulls me onward…that sense of longing that fills the pages of the
Old Testament prophets…that straining forward to something
beautiful that is just beyond the horizon.

They desire a better
country…Yes, oh YES. And I will live by faith in the meantime…even
when that faith feels smaller than a mustard seed, until, by God’s
grace, I see for myself that place where we all belong. Let's travel
there together.

Sunday, July 31, 2016

If
you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are
above...Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that
are on earth

That
sounds like pretty clear advice – and indeed, Paul is a past-master
at viewing the world in black and white binary terms...As he
addresses the Colossians, he is asking them to draw a firm line
between their former selves and their true selves, those selves that
are hidden for now, only to be revealed when the Kingdom breaks in in
all its fullness.

The
only trouble is that, when I look at my own life, that opening “IF”
feels like quite a significant word.

Yes
– I was baptized as a baby, went through that symbolic drowning of
all the old order, the original sin, if you like...and what's more my
parents went on to honour the baptism promises, doing everything in
their power to help me realise that to be a Christian was to live a
different kind of life. And yes, of course I long to love God with
all my heart, soul, mind, strength and to love and serve my neighbour
selflessly...And I take the call of God on my life, and the joyful
obligations of priesthood very seriously indeed but (oh, goodness,
why is there ALWAYS a but?) that IF brings me up short every single
time.

IF
I have been raised with Christ – then surely my life should look
very very different.

If
the only evidence there is for a Christ-like transformation is the
way that I spend my Sundays and the institution that employs me, then
I rather think I'm doing it wrong. Please don't think that I'm
fishing for compliments if I say that I don't honestly think there is
very much that distinguishes me from my atheist friends, whose lives
are every bit as moral, every bit as free from Paul's catalogue of
evils as, on a good day, I aspire to be.

So
– if my transformed life is hidden like buried treasure, then
sometimes it feels as if it's buried rather too far down. And that
can feel discouraging, to put it mildly.

However,
Paul uses another picture too – something that sounds rather like a
kind of spiritual equivalent of a Trinny and Susannah style makeover.

Strip
off the old self – that's stage one. Let go of the past and its
failures if you can...

Let
go of those thoughts, words and deeds that point to an
uncompromisingly earth-bound way of being.

Give
yourself a long hard look and ask – is this what you'd expect to
see in someone who has been raised with Christ, who is striving to
live as a sign of the kingdom here and now? While you might not
choose, any more than he did, to join Pere Hamel in the ranks of the
martyrs, it's fair to say that being ready to lay down our lives is,
in all honesty, part of the deal.Are you up for that? If you feel
small and scared, as I do, then acknowledge itbut nonetheless, aspire
to choose a different way, “clothe yourself with the new self”.
It's unlikely to be easy or pain free but it really is the only way.

I'm
reminded of a passage in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, one of the
Narnia books by C.S. Lewis. Eustace, who has been living a far-from
transformed life,becomes so fixated upon the beauties of a dragon's
horde that he becomes a dragon himself. After some time he comes
before Aslan, the great lion who represents Christ, and discovers
that he can be restored to himself only if he trusts Aslan to strip
away layer after layer of dragon's skin

“The
very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right
into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse
than anything I’ve ever felt. ...he peeled the beastly stuff right
off – And there was I smooth and soft as a peeled switch and
smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me – I didn’t
like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no
skin on — and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but
only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as
soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain
had gone. And then I saw why. I’d turned into a boy again. . . .”

It's
a process, becoming your new, true self. You won't manage it all in
one go, and you certainly won't manage it alone...but help is
available, if you're sincere in your commitment to a new way of
being..

So,
strip away the old self and then clothe yourself with the new, which
is BEING RENEWED according to the image of its creator.

In
other words, keep on trying on new outfits, new habits of mind and
patterns of life until you actually look and feel RIGHT...until what
you see in the mirror matches God's vision for you...your best
self...And know that this process of renewal and restoration will
take a life-time – but you really shouldn't settle for anything
less.

It
is a choice, though. IF you have been raised with Christ...live into
your new identity and adjust your priorities accordingly. Think, for
a moment. What are yours? There's a principle at work in business and
society that dictates that we count what is important, and then what
we count becomes important.

In
our gospel, Jesus makes it quite clear what it should mean to have
our minds set on things above. The rich farmer of his story isn't
altogether BAD. He hasn't accrued wealth by dubious means – but he
has failed to consider anyone but himself. There's no thought of a
staff bonus, or a community feast, still less any plan to share with
those who are struggling ..and there is something grotesque and
chilling in that little conversation “I will say to my soul, Soul
you have ample goods laid up for many years”. This is the voice of
a miser. There's simply nobody else to ripple the surface of his
unblemished self interest...

What
he counts is supremely important to him - and it's all completely
pointless.

All
his wealth cannot, will not, save him from the common fate of all
humanity.

THIS
VERY NIGHT he will die – and discover that while his material
wealth was vast, when it comes to the things of God, he's poor
indeed.

Rather
a contrast, there, with Pere Hamel, I think....

So,
what do we count?

Do
we count how much we earn? Or how much we save by way of bargains, or
put away for a rainy day? Do we count how many hours we enjoy with
family? How much we give away? Those moments of joy and blessing
which are pure gift?.

We
count what is important and then what we count becomes important.

I've
shared before that I'm prone to worrying that there won't be enough,
somehow...not enough money, not enough time, not enough security for
myself or those whom I love. It’s understandable when you think
about it, because every day we're assaulted with that message. TV
commercials, billboards, Facebook – everywhere we turn we get the
message that we are insufficient, incomplete, not quite good
enough. It's so easy to be seduced...to believe that money will
give us control of our lives, enable happiness and security...even
when experience and common sense tell us a very different story. If
only we had the money, we could buy more of the things that count and
that would make us happy.

But
you know, that doesn't sound much like a transformed life, does it?

IF
you've been raised with Christ, try another way...and don't be a
fool.

Perhaps
a couple of stories will help. One concerns the Wendel family, whose
wealth grew during the 19th century so that by 1900 it was
estimated at $50,000,000. To keep it intact, John G Wendel II, kept
five of his six sisters from marrying and the whole family dedicated
themselves to spending as little as possible of their huge fortune.
When the last sister died in 1931, her estate was valued at more than
$100 million. Her only dress was one she had made herself, and she
had worn it for 25 years. They were so attached to their riches that
they lived like paupers, imprisoned and possessed by the abundance of
their possessions.

In
contrast, another snapshot.

One
fall day I visited the Sheldons in the ramshackle rented house they
lived in at the edge of the woods. Despite a painful physical
handicap, Mr. Sheldon had shot and butchered a bear which strayed
into their yard once too often. The meat had been processed into all
the big canning jars they could find or swap for. There would be meat
in their diet even during the worst of the winter when their fuel
costs were high.

Mr.
Sheldon offered me a jar of bear meat. I hesitated to accept it, but
the giver met my unspoken resistance firmly. "Now you just have
to take this. We want you to have it. We don't have much, that's a
fact; but we ain't poor!"

I
couldn't resist asking, "What's the difference?"

His
answer proved unforgettable.

"When
you can give something away, even when you don't have much, then you
ain't poor. When you don't feel easy giving something away even if
you got more'n you need, then you're poor, whether you know it or
not.”

We
count what is important and then what we count becomes important. If
being able to give is what makes you rich, then you are already
living by the upside down values of the kingdom, where the last is
first and the meek inherit the earth. A life rich towards God is
a life that focuses on the things that are above, that trusts and
hopes and lives in the resurrection power and faithfulness of God’s
love here and now. “It is a kind of Christian defiance [of culture]
which sometimes sings, sometimes weeps, sometimes knows anguish,
sometimes does not have all the answers, but keeps believing....It
may be a life that doesn’t have much material wealth, but it won’t
be poor in what matters.

If
you have been raised with Christ – this is the life you can live,
beginning here and now with your own transformation, as a sign of
that day when everything – EVERYTHING – will be transformed.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

An urban myth records that when asked what he thought of western civilisation, Mahatma Gandhi replied that he thought it might be rather a good idea...and several times during the weeks of the referendum campaign I’ve sadly reflected that he was right. As feelings ran high and claim and counter claim were delivered, generating more heat than light, it seemd that our nation had lost the plot. When the news broke of Jo Cox’s murder it was almost impossible to believe...but I guess it was, in fact, simply the most extreme of many recent examples of a people biting and devouring one another in a destructive cycle, to our collective shame and diminution.

It seems that the campaign brought to the surface a whole tangle of feelings and opinions that had been buried for a while...but which are now, distressingly, in plain view. The temptation would be, I guess, to hurry to bury them forthwith. To pretend that we hadn’t noticed those things that seem to make it so very hard to love our neighbour and choose false peace over painful integrity. I have one godson whose views, as expressed on his Facebook page, frankly appalled me. Perhaps I should have the courage to ask him how he came to those conclusions, to explore with him the big issues, to see what common ground we might discover as we re-imagine the country to which we would like to belong. I'm fearful, you see, that I just don't understand too many of my neighbours. I've lived in a lovely liberal bubble, shared by people whose outlook mirrored my own – and so I just didn't grasp how divided our country has become. Now I have to think again. What should I do? I could opt for running down those who voted another way, those whose world view makes little sense to me...those whom it's tempting to dismiss as ill-informed, uneducated, just plain WRONG.

I could do that – but I'm sure it's a bad idea. Perhaps I should just tell my godson that we were on opposing sides and hug him anyway (though at 26 he would probably infinitely prefer me to keep my hugs to myself). More importantly, perhaps I should try to seriously love my neighbour by working to understand what it is that shapes his world view where it differs from my own...to understand, not to patronise or tut but to understand.

I do have that choice,…So do you..

Regardless of how we voted, regardless of our feelings of relief or distress, delight or despair, we are collectively responsible for shaping the real, every day life of our country. That has nothing to do with political rhetoric…it doesn’t even depend on economic conditions….It’s a question of the way we live day by day…for its our behaviour that will make this small island somewhere to flee from or somewhere we can still rejoice to call “home”.

Carriers of Hope tweeted yesterday that someone had heard school children telling their migrant class-mates “You're going home”...This city, which has stood for diversity and inclusion, for peace and reconciliation, could so easily become as painfully divided as the national media....

It could. But it doesn't have to.
It's our choice.

Now that we know where we’re heading, we have an opportunity to return to our senses – and to practice a different way of being – the way that was chosen for us by Provost Howard almost 76 years ago…that lies at the heart of all that we do and all that we are here...the way of reconciliation.
We know it’s counter cultural. We know it’s hard to practice – and I have to say that my own feelings during the final days of the campaign proved to me just how much I remain a work in progress. In all honesty if I could have called down fire from heaven on Friday I probably would have. But I know that I can do better. I know that WE can do better....and this is the moment to demonstrate that.

Almost always, at the end of a political campaign, there comes a moment of truth, when those who have secured power have the chance to live up to their promises – or not...a moment when their true colours are revealed. Today, as God's people here in Coventry we have our moment of truth, our opportunity to show our true colours...to live what we proclaim.

We meet in this place surrounded by the gifts of friends from around the world, and remember that those friends shared the ideal of international co-operation and peace-making that rose from the ashes of bombed cities in the aftermath of war. We see the refugee boat, and renew our commitment to welcome refugees, to offer hospitality to the stranger in need. On Thursday, as the voting continued, I found myself chatting to one of the uni staff attending a celebration dinner, a woman who had fled her own home in 1979 as one of the Vietnamese boat people, and rejoiced in our visible symbol of understanding and concern. Honestly, in this building, it's hard not to make good choices. We look out through the west screens to see our beloved ruins...and cannot evade the consequences of listening to those voices that demonise the other, that dedicate themselves to enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions...and things like these. But we stand in a place of resurrection. Truly, our Cathedral speaks of hope – but is honest, too, about the harm that humanity can cause when we are left to ourselves,

But -here's the gospel - we aren't left to ourselves.

Freedom in Christ has set us free – free to choose another way, the way of hope not hate...free to attempt the challenging work of love that reaches across the gulf caused by the hatred that divides nation from nation, race from race, class from class.
So – let us use our freedom. Having put our hand to the plough, let us not look back. The road to Jerusalem was hard for Jesus – the destination not of his own choosing – but he set his face towards it and lived out his vocation on each and every step of the way.
That's our opportunity, in these days of confusion and distress. We may not like the route ahead. We might never have chosen to head in this direction, yet still we have to keep on moving forward.

We can live out our vocation as a reconciled and reconciling people and transform the life of our city so that nobody feels marginalised, nobody feels excluded, nobody sees themselves as second class citizens.
We can build bridges – as the post war generation did, here and across Europe. We can hold onto the dream of co-operation - and make that dream a better reality. Alone – our chances of success are slim. But – remember, we aren't left to ourselves. Let us be guided by the Spirit, who will lead us into all truth and enable us to bear fruit for God – fruit that will, by God's grace,change the world.

Nobody expected this.To wake to a world that has changed so dramatically.To realise that we had been living in a bubble with likeminded people, and so utterly failed to understand the depths of frustration and desperation that led people of good will to side with what looks, from my grieving perspective, like the force of pride and prejudice (I refuse to engage with the possibility that in some cases the good will may exist simply in my determinedly optimistic imagination).To learn that in this wonderful, diverse city which I'm privileged to serve, so many had apparently turned away from that very diversity towards the presumed security of closed borders.To watch as the national structures that had seemed solid and secure reeled in the face of a day when people turned out in greater numbers than for many a year to make a small cross on a ballot paper.I'm guessing that the level of shock was last matched when Churchill was ousted in the first post-War election...Nobody expected this.And it would be so easy to simply vent my own feelings, to give up on this small island, to explore the possibilities that might be open through my Scots grandmother or my Irish grandfather.But- that's would be to invalidate my calling to THIS place at THIS time.So, at noon, we gathered as happens every Friday in the ruins of our old Cathedral - destroyed by the tide of anger and hatred that was the 2nd World War.We stood where Provost Howard had stood on the morning after HIS night of storm and terror - and committed ourselves once again to the way of reconciliation that he chose.We will need to build bridges within our country as well as with our friends in other places.We will need to try and understand one another as never before, to leave our places of safety and risk being vulnerable with those who felt they had little to lose.We will need to carry on loving - even the leaders whose rhetoric seems to have resulted in a country polarised as never before in my lifetime.Coventry Cathedral stands today, as it did before the Referendum, for reconciliation and for hope.By God's grace, I will try and stand with it.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

Sojourner
isn't a word much used today. It has its roots in the idea of a day tripper, "sojours",
someone passing through, without putting down any roots – and some versions of
the psalter translate the word as “Passing guest”.

We
know all about passing guests here, of course.

Passing
guests from all over the world, drawn by our story of Reconciliation.

Passing
guests from the city, come with a particular need – to give thanks, to mourn,
to commemorate together.

Guests
coming to be resourced, guests coming with no agenda at all – walking
purposefully through the building to leave without a backward glance.

Guests
bringing gifts, – as you have brought your gift of music.

Guests
whose stories interweave with ours for a little while, so thatwe impact upon one anotherand are enriched by the encounter.

Guests
who sometimes decide to settle down and stay, so that sojourners are
transformed into friends and family, strangers into community.

But
our psalmist has another idea in mind with his use of the word here, as he
reflects on the transience of life, the idea that though we are here on earth
for the moment, our real home is in heaven.

We
are, you see, God's passing guests...only here by his gracious
invitation.

I
find it difficult to hear this psalm without the portentous music that
accompanies it in Brahm's German Requiem.

Lord
- let me know my end and the number of my days.

How
long have I got?

Should
I start to pay particular attention to the items on my bucket list?

It's
a question that continues to surface for us.

Here
and now feels very permanent, the only reality we've directly experienced – but
we know in our heart of hearts that nobody gets out of here alive.

The
strange thing is that for the most part we refuse to accept mortality. While
our 19th century forbears seemed intent on reminding themselves on a
daily basis that death is inevitable, surrounding themselves with so many
momenti mori that from a distance it can sometimes look as if they made death a
way of life, now we have hit the other extreme. "Death is nothing at all..."
proclaims a whole industry intent on persuading us that the failure of our
bodies is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Those whom we love can still
be part of our lives – as jewellry, works of art, or whatever you will,
really...Let us distract you..." they say. "Don't worry about endings. Focus on the here and
now. Seize the day!"

But
the trouble is that death is real...and that actually, we need it to add
impetus to our lives. As my colleagues and children would tell you, I'm a professional procrastinator.

Without
some sort of deadline sermons, articles, birthday cakes would simply never
happen.

Thankfully,
there's a time limit built into our lives too – so that even such should be
encouraged to get on with things.

“Thou
hast made my days as a span long” - human lives just as long as the breadth of
God's hand – a measurable period in which all is gift. Not one second can be
taken for granted – and so it matters that we spend those seconds, minutes,
hours well and wisely.

That's
the point.

Not
a morbid preoccupation with the moment when we pass from time into eternity but
a determination to use our time for things that really matter. Seize the day, indeed - but seize it to good purpose!

“Blessed
are they who live with integrity, who walk in the way of the Lord” said our
anthem...or if you prefer it, Augustine proclaimed

“Life is for love. Time is
only that we might find God”.

That's
what it's all about.

Yes,
we are small sparks of life, here on a temporary basis – but this does not, as
the psalmist suggested, mean that we simply walk “in a vain shadow”...that
nothing has meaning or purpose.

We
are here to love, and to encounter the God who created us, redeemed and loves us.

And
now, Lord, what is my hope? My hope is even in thee

It
is in our relationship with God, and in living each day in the light of that
relationship that we find our peace and security. In this world of time and
chance, here is solid ground....

Love
God. Love neighbour. Live to make a difference – and you will do well.

On
Friday this cathedral was packed as the Barbadian community from across the
Midlands and beyond gathered to give thanks and say goodbye to a remarkable
lady. You won't know her name.

She
didn't amass a fortune, large or small.

She
didn't have a glittering career, working instead in the kitchen of a local care
home..But she lived her life with a warmth and generosity that meant that
everyone who knew her was inspired, encouraged, persuaded into being their
better selves – and the loving family that she left behind have clearly learned
from their mother. She used her time well, right enough...and she knew, too,
where her hope and security lay.

If
she was a passing guest, she was the kind of guest that gets stuck in, helps
you deal with a long-avoided household task, brings love and laughter with her
as part of the luggage, even if her stay is short.

That's
who I want to be in this world.

Someone
with such security in God that I can live knowing that time is limited.

Someone
who can accept mortality without fear or dread, seeing it as simply an
encouragement to get on with being my best self here and now.

Someone
who knows that, even when she fails and falls,again and again and again, there is a solid hope in God,
who holds all our time in his hands.

Monday, May 16, 2016

That's a question which, on a bad day, can seem to haunt the dreams of those whose ministry takes place in one...Of course there are many many answers - from the strictly functional (the place where the bishop has his cathedra seat), through the aspirational (the mother church for the diocese, a place of resource and nurture for the whole diocesan family), the poetic (flag-ships of the spirit) with many another definition along the way. My longing for ours is that it should be known as a place of unconditional welcome, where all who come, no matter what their tastes in music or worship styles, should feel at home and able to connect with the God whose beauty is the reason for all of it...Sometimes we manage this better than others - but I rather think that in the past 24 hours we've not done badly.It began, as Sundays often do, with the Cathedral Eucharist - at which I had the privilege of presiding.Even before we started, as we waited in the north aisle, with incense clouding the air ahead, there was a sense of eager hope. The congregation was in good heart, and had turned out in some force, many even remembering to wear something red. The Baptism family were gathered (no mean feat when you're juggling twin toddlers as well as a 6 month old baby), the new Wardens all in place waiting to be commissioned, and even the 1st Communicants (whose view of time is somewhat elastic) were present and visible. And - it felt as if we really were expecting something of God...who, of course, did not disappoint. I may have felt a little guilty as we loaded our poor Wardens with badges and staffs - baggage representative of other burdens that the institution places upon them - but they are such splendid people that I mostly felt thankful and relieved. In contrast, it was sheer joy to baptise little A. (though she would not say the same thing - and expressed her own views with passion), and to welcome the group of children who had been longing to take their place at the family table for so long. We moved from font to High Altar and when the organist began to play music from the Royal Fireworks, to match the clouds of smoke as I censed the altar (he's good that way - one day I really will be unable to stop the giggles), it was very hard not to grin like a maniac and sqeee loudly as I went on my way... God was SO present. Presiding is, for me, the heart of my priesthood - and yesterday everything conspired to make it particularly wonderful. Tallis "Loquebantur", the delighted smiles of the children opening their hands for me to give them the Sacrament, the wonderful diversity of congregation which is part of Cathedral life.God was in playful mood with others too. Over coffee I had several conversations reflecting the unsettling and inspiring work of the Spirit and was myself still purring when I headed home.Later, of course, the Cathedral was filled with a new and different congregation - from all over the diocese and beyond, as we hosted the Beacon event for the Midlands. The worship could not have been a greater contrast to the morning's, but was equally effective in enabling encounters with God.I had one confirmation candidate - and it was most definitely holy ground as I stood with him before the bishop (one of four confirming...which changed the dynamic entirely, and somehow made it feel MORE intimate and not less, as each candidate came up in turn to their confirming bishop, rather than the bishop moving along a line). While in the nave all was exuberant celebration, in the Chapel of Unity children worked with huge concentration, creating crowns of flames and paper plate doves - and covering as many surfaces as possible with glitter too. One small girl, retreating to a prayer pod, said that she was glad that there was somewhere quiet to think while "THEY" (gesturing to the nave) got on with being noisy :)....She also reminded me that the Holy Spirit could be as quiet as breath on a feather....I wonder if I will be around when she is old enough to be confirmed - her faith and friendship with God simply shone - a highlight of the day.And then came Monday - the morning after the day before. Ordinary Time, green and growing. And I found myself presiding again - for a congregation of three, in the Lady Chapel.And there God was again. And I found myself reflecting on the way the disciples "spoke in different languages, as the Spirit gave them voice" - and on the different languages of worship we had spoken over one 24 hour period - and I hope and believe that in all that variety there was a space for everyone to find a home and a welcome.Me, I'm being challenged and reminded that God WILL be there - bidden or not - expected or not...for this is, of course, HIS Cathedral, existing as a sign-post, a visual reminder of that transforming presence, that brings joy out of sadness and life out of death.

Friday, May 13, 2016

or, if you prefer, God is up to something.This week, the Church of England has been invited to pray around those familiar words from the Lord's Prayer "Thy Kingdom Come...", and to focus our prayers on an outpouring of the Holy Spirit to transform the Church into a convincing sign of the Kingdom of God, an agent of God's transformation in lives and in communities.All through the week I've been inviting people to simply pray "Thy Kingdom Come" and expect things to change...but I wasn't, if I honest, that alert to signs of those changes happening around me - until a conversation at a committee which isn't always the most obvious sign of God at work woke me up to some of the remarkable things that have been happening around the place.At the weekend, the ruins of our second cathedral were full of happy faces, of out-pourings of local creativity at a one-night music festival, of students dressed to the nines enjoying their summer ball, of people of all ages savouring delicious street food and great music under cloudless skies. The whole thing shouted "Welcome" in so many different ways, and it was a delight to see people responding to that with warmth and enthusiasm - and to know that the God who shares in our joy was celebrating with us.On both Tuesday and Wednesday I had completely unexpected opportunities to learn about some of the wounds that still linger in our communities, and maybe to offer small, tentative gestures towards restoration. Conversations happened that I could never have imagined being part of and, please God, seeds of hope and reassurance were planted.Tuesday also included one of the most extra-ordinary experiences I've had in recent years. We welcomed several hundred Jains into the cathedral - as both tourists and pilgrims. There had been alot of correspondence with our splendid Dean's Verger before the big day - and an agreement that I would lead a time of meditation, ushered in by a chant.... This really alarmed me! Several hundred unknown Indians chanting in the nave (even though I had enthusiastically agreed with the suggestion that we use "Maranatha" as our chant), had, I felt, the potential to disturb and confuse any casual visitor...I had, of course, reckoned without the God who was so much part of the entire event.From the moment that our guests arrived they made it very clear that the cathedral was holy ground. We exchanged Namastes as they poured in...slightly late of course (though this had more to do with traffic around the city than that wonderful Indian maxim "In the west you have clocks. In India we have time")...filling the nave with the vibrant colours that delighted me whenever I led worship in India. When their visiting guru had arrived, I welcomed them, told them a little of the cathedral's story, and introduced the chant and meditation. I was still worried that we would struggle with the twenty minutes planned for this, but from the moment that I prayed it was very obvious that God was present in large, large letters. The opening prayer had been suggested by the Jains' co-ordinator - which was remarkable in itself. 'Heavenly Father, open our hearts to the silent presence of the spirit of your Son. Lead us into that mysterious silence where your love is revealed to all who call, 'Maranatha...Come, Lord Jesus.'They way that they responded was extra-ordinary.As we chanted those four syllables, softly, til the word became part of the rhythm of breath and the blood coursing around our bodies, til the whole Cathedral seemed to be carrying that longing "Come, Lord Jesus", there was no doubt at all that every single one of us from the youngest child to the most venerable great-grand-parent, knew that we were in God's presence.We moved into a silence that was nothing like long enough - and later, so many of our visitors took time to find me and tell me of the depth of their experience. Though officially Jains have no belief in any god, they were very clear that they had been in the presence of the divine, and that we had stood on holy ground together.Later they were to pray the whole Litany of Reconciliation with my colleague in the ruins - the grace of God poured out and enabling us to live into the heart of our reconciliation ministry, which seeks to heal the wounds of history, learn to live with difference and celebrate diversity and to build a culture of peace.And may I point out - it's only Friday! Sunday's a-coming, when we welcome the Holy Spirit poured out at Pentecost and active in transforming the world.

Monday, May 09, 2016

There's a popular misconception out there that if you have faith
in God, you can expect life to be all green pastures and still waters...that
somehow bad things just won't happen to you.

That's a really dangerous assumption – and one that is disproved
somewhere on a daily, if not hourly, basis.

It always has been.

If you doubt me, have a read of the book of psalms....a collection
of poetic prayers that were old well before Jesus walked the earth. They are
the story of all the ups and downs of the life of faith...good days when it's
easy to celebrate and praise God.

Hard times when it's almost impossible to believe that God is
there at all.

Whatever your feelings on any given day, I can pretty much
guarantee that there's a psalm to match.

The reading Shirley just shared with us is a really good example
of the journey that faith and feelings often make together.

Clearly the writer is up against it.

He feels ground down – trampled by people and events.

And I'm guessing that feeling isn't unknown to most of you...that
sense of being so squashed by life and by grief that you might as well be face
down in the mud, suffocating, unable to look up and see the stars even for a
moment.

The earliest days of loss are just like that, and if you're here
in that first rawness of grief, then really all anyone can do is to stand beside
you, weep with you, hold the light, even if it's no more than a flickering
candle, until one day your own being recovers the light of life.

To be honest, for most people that's all that GOD can do at first...stay close, weep with you, carry the light.

God doesn't wade in to fix things, much though we might long for
him to do so.

God goes through them with us.

That's just the way it is.

And what's interesting in our reading is that though things are
obviously very tough indeed, the writer somehow manages to hang on to his
faith...

You see, God is so involved in our lives that all our pain,
bewilderment, grief and fear is completely real for him.

God takes on those feelings and carries them for us – just as God
carries so much else.

Those feelings are precious to him because they are a reflection
of our love..and it is in loving that we come closest to God on this side of
eternity.

It's true, God has never promised that life will be
straightforward and pain free if we throw in our lot with him.

Quite the reverse.

“in the world you will have
troubles” Jesus warns his friends...

But what we ARE
promised is that nothing in the world will ever separate us from God's love and
that nothing – NOTHING – is ever
wasted

Every moment of pain, every tear you have wept, is precious...so
precious that God saves all those tears in his bottle, a priceless relic of our
feelings of love and loss.

I love that. In just the same way that each of us, as parents,
files away the strangest things – outgrown baby clothes, a threadbare teddy, a football
shirt – because they were special for our children, and so are forever precious
to us...so God hoardes those tears that we've shed, tokens of our love and our
suffering.

God gets it, understands completely how we feel...

God never glosses over the reality of our pain – not for an
instant.

And in all that pain God is FOR
us.

Uncompromisingly on our side.

Weeping with us, yes – but also lending his strength and his hope.

God is for me.

God is for you.

No matter what the external situation might suggest – you are not
alone in a hostile universe, where pain and sadness have the upper hand.

If you let him, God will lead you gently, step by tiny step, on
that same journey that the psalmist has taken.

It's a journey from the pain of loss, through the gradual
remembering of God's care, to that moment when you can begin to raise your eyes
and glimpse a new dawn breaking over the horizon as you recover the light of
life again.

The God who made and loves your children holds them safe and holds
you too.

You know that each moment of your child's life had meaning – that
their whole life was complete and perfect in itself, even if lasted just a few
brief days. It would not have been a BETTER life if it had been longer. A day lily is not a failure because it withers
and fades so much faster than an oak or a Californian redwood. There is no
comparison.Each is perfect in itself.
There is nothing lacking.

Our children were completely themselves – exactly the people God
had always intended them to be.

And now that life – and your memories of it – are safely held
close to God's heart.

And you are left to continue your journey of grief, in which every
moment has meaning and purpose too.

Of course the loss of a child changes the whole world.

Nothing is ever the same.

But nothing is wasted either.

The God who saves our tears in his bottle, weeping over each one
of them with us, can be trusted to take care of us just as he is taking care of
our children.

So – let yourself trust and do not be afraid.

That grief which was so huge that at first it threatened to keep
you face down in the mud forever does not need to be your defining truth.

When the time is right, you could even begin to gradually unclench
your fingers and let go, handing your grief over into God's hands so that you
can walk forward, in the light of life that he holds before you, the light that
will, in God's time, guide you safely home.

That's something that feels particularly true
for me this year, which began with one child moving to Canada for 2 years and
another heading off to Ghana on a volunteer project for some months. I'm at
that stage of parenthood where I'm always practising letting go – but if I'm
honest, I'd rather like my children with me where I am...maybe not under the
same roof, but definitely within easy reach for a quick coffee.

Yup - it's fair to say that I'm RUBBISH at
goodbyes.

The trouble is, I think, that even the little
goodbyes are in some ways a preparation for the bigger ones – those that feel
really rather final...I always try to remember, though, that
"Goodbye" is the quick way of saying "God be with you" –
and that wherever we are, and whatever may happen – that is always and
wonderfully true – and even when I'm struggling I can think back to Pat,a wonderful lady in my last parish, who said
to me, a couple of days before her death

“See you later. Here or there”.

But it's that difference between here and
there that we find ourselves caught in – so sometimes it's quite hard to
actually see Ascensiontide as a celebration.

The physical, walking, talking, fish-eating
Jesus is gone from our world...– no longer visibly present to us as the man
from Galilee, though he is, of course, wonderfully present wherever his Church
practises Kingdom living – loving mercy, doing justly, walking humbly with God.

Today, though, I want to share a story with
you that looks at the Ascension in a rather different way. Before I begin, I must remind you that
whenever we talk about God, we find that our words aren’t really good enough.
God is beyond our language just as God is beyond our understanding – so the
ways in which we speak are mostly metaphor…using something we do understand to
help us describe something that is too big to be limited by our brains or our
language.

For example, we often describe Jesus as the
Light of the world – but I’m sure that none of you think in terms of a light
bulb or even a candle when you pray. We think about God as a rock, but that has
more to do with the fact that we know we can rely on God’s loving presence,
come what may , rather than counting on any supposed mineral qualities.

So, when you hear this story, which talks
about heaven as somewhere up in the clouds, I don’t want you take that too
literally. Let's not revert to those weird and wonderful medieval paintings
which show a pair of feet sticking out of a white and fluffy cloud.

Ascension tells us something important –
butthe language a way of talking about
something that’s way beyond speech.

The real meaning of the story…that’s true
enough,

So, if you’re sitting comfortably, suspend
your disbelief while Ishare a story
with you that has been told since the days of the early church - by the desert
fathers and mothers, sitting around their camp fires -by St Gregory of Nyssa
and St Basil the Great - and by many others we won’t get to know this side of
Paradise. I heard the story from someone who’d read it in the works of Abba
Sayah*…He admits that it’s a story with only the shakiest of provenance - but
there is no doubt whatsoever of its underlying truth.

As the gospels tell us, after forty days of
resurrection appearances, Jesus knew it was time to leave his disciples – his
mother, his brothers and sisters, all his companions in the Way. It was hard to
say goodbye, but he knew that the time had come. After all, he was the Truth
and we humans can only take so much of that.

So Jesus called them all together on the
mountain top, and made his farewells. It was a tearful moment. Mary was crying.
John was crying. Jesus was crying. Even Peter, the immovable rock, was reaching
for his handkerchief.

They knew that Jesus had said he would always
be with them. But they also knew it wasn't going to be the same. There would be
no more breakfasts by the seashore, no more late night discussions around the
campfire, no more unexpected jugs of wine…and so they wept.

Jesus was sad too, but he was glad to be
returning to his Father, and he knew it was all part of the plan. And so he
began to ascend.

As Abba Sayah told the story,as Jesus began to rise, slowly and gracefully
into the air, John just couldn't bear it. He grabbed hold of Jesus' right leg,
and refused to let go.

"John?" said Jesus “What are you
doing?”

And John shouted back,

"If you won't stay with us, then I'm
coming too."

Jesus calmly continued to rise, hoping that
John would let go. But he didn’t. And then, to make matters worse, Mary
suddenly jumped up and grabbed hold of Jesus' other leg.

"I'm coming too," she shouted.

By now, Jesus’ big exit had obviously been
ruined, but he looked up into heaven, and called out:

"Okay, Father... what do I do now?"
And a voice came out of the clouds, deep and loud like the rumbling of thunder
in the distance.

"Ascend!" the voice said.

"Ascend?" Jesus asked

"Ascend!" the voice replied.

So Jesus continued to rise through the air,
with John and Mary holding on until they too were lifted off the ground.

But the other disciples couldn’t bear to be
left behind either, so they too jumped on board…and within moments there was
this pyramid of people hanging in the middle of the sky. Jesus at the top. John
and Mary next. The apostles hanging on below. Quite a sight, if anyone had been
watching...

And then - what was this?Suddenly all kinds of people were appearing
out of nowhere…friends and neighbours from around Galilee, people who’d heard
Jesus’ stories, people whom he had healed, people who just knew that he was
something special…Young and old,-men, women, children, Jews and Gentiles…a
huge crowd – and they too refused to be left behind…So, they made a grab for
the last pair of ankles and hung on for dear life. One way and another there
was quite a kerfuffle -people squealing “Wait for me” -then startled yelps as
they felt themselves seized by the ankle -and above it all the voice of God
calling out, “Ascend!"

But all of a sudden, from the bottom of the
pyramid, there came the piping voice of a small child.

But the little boy wasn't going to be left
behind, and he was determined his dog was coming with him. So, still holding on
with one hand, he grabbed hold of a tree with the other, and held on with all
his might.

For a moment, the whole pyramid stopped dead
in the air - Jesus pulling upwards, and the little boy holding on to the tree,
scanning the horizon for his lost dog.But Jesus couldn't stop. The ascension had begun, and God was pulling
him back up to heaven.

At first it looked as if the tree would
uproot itself.But then the tree held
on, and it started to pull the ground up with it. Sort of like when you pull a
rug up in the middle, the soil itself started moving up into the sky.And hundreds of miles away, where the soil
met the oceans, the oceans held on. And where the oceans met the shores, the
shores held on. All of it held on, like there was no tomorrow.

To cut a short story long: Jesus DID ascend
to heaven, He went back to his natural habitat, living permanently in the
presence of God’s endless love and care and wholeness and laughter.

But, as Abba Sayah tells it, he pulled all of
creation – the whole kit and caboodle – everything that ever was or is or ever
will be – he pulled it all up into heaven with him. And there's the truth of the story.

When I'm celebrating Ascension with children
I sometimes talk about it as “Christmas backwards”.

At Christmas, we concentrate on Jesus coming
to earth to transform us with the presence of God. At Ascension, we focus
instead on Jesus taking earth back with him into heaven…

Whichever way you look at it, the work of
Jesus was to transform us and the world we live in by infusing everything with
the presence of God.

Heaven meets earth; earth is drawn into
heaven.

And, as Abba Sayah said. that's where we've
been ever since. If we have our feet on the ground but our hearts in heaven,
that should make a real difference to how we live our lives...so let's do all
that we can to demonstrate to everyone we meetthat we are children of God and citizens of
heaven.

Over the next week, our Archbishops have
invited each and every member of the Church of England to pray with a
particular focus “Thy kingdom come”....and to ask God to send the Holy Spirit
to help us to live each day as witnesses to God's love and signs of God's
kingdom. There are pilgrimages and prayer vigils, a huge celebration for
Christians from all over the Midlands in your very own cathedral, and all sorts
of other ways that you might get involved with this. If nothing else, if every
one of us prayed the Lord's Prayer as if we expected it to change things – the
results could be amazing.

Remember, feet on the ground – making a
difference in our own ways in our own communities...but hearts in heaven,
filled with the love that makes us one in Christ, and signs of God's Kingdom.*The Abba Sayah story appears in Edward Hays "The Ladder" publised by Forest of Peace Publishing 1999